Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(54)

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow.” She shuts the door firmly behind her.

I shoot off a quick text in the family group chat informing them I’m getting kicked out, expecting Sawyer, at least, to tell me to stay put, but instead I get a single message from Ella.

Sawyer’s passed out. Let Seb sleep, too. They both need it. You too.

I think of Seb and his wild antics. He’s doing this because he’s scared and the last thing that should happen is for him to wake up to an empty room.

Nah. I’m gonna stay.

Why Easton Royal. That’s so adult of you. *winky face*

A strange, unfamiliar warmth spreads through me. I tuck my phone away. Maybe I am growing up. It doesn’t feel so bad, after all.





Chapter 23





Hartley





“I’m sorry I came home so late,” I tell my mother as I dump brown sugar on my oatmeal.

“You did? I didn’t realize. Dylan, where is your helmet?” Mom yells.

“In the mudroom,” comes a disembodied reply.

“I looked there already,” Mom mutters, tossing a towel onto the counter and disappearing into the nearby mudroom.

Helmet? I wonder what that is for. Dylan comes rushing into the kitchen. I study her closely for signs of injury. Has she accidentally broken anything in the past three years? Were Dad’s actions an aberration or is he abusing my sister on a regular basis?

“Hey, Dylan, you doing okay this morning?”

She sticks her head in the fridge and ignores me. She’s been avoiding me all morning. When I woke up, I knocked on her door but she didn’t respond. I waited in my room, listening for any sounds in the hall. When I heard her, I leaped out only to be too late. She’d already escaped into the bathroom.

I go over and tap her on the shoulder. “Dylan, are you okay this morning?”

She jerks away from my touch and slams the fridge door shut. “I heard you the first time. I’m fine. Can you go back to leaving me alone like you have the last three years?” Milk in hand, she stomps over to the pantry and pulls out a box of Cheerios.

Guilt lodges in my throat and I have to clear the lump before I can speak. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I didn’t mean to be. That’s why I came home, you know, to be close to you.”

“Whatever,” she mutters. Her phone is out and she’s scrolling through her messages.

I’m sure I sent her some while I was gone. I wonder what I said. Maybe I was really mean to her or she told me things and I didn’t listen well, caught up in my own drama.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

She glances at me above the top of her phone. “I’d have to care to be hurt.”

“Ouch.” I rub my chest and try to laugh off the blow she just dealt. “Okay, I hope you know I love you.”

Dylan’s response is to pick up her bowl, carry it to the sink and yell, “Mom, did you find my helmet?”

“Still looking.”

I rub a hand across my mouth. It’s as if they wish I didn’t live here.

“It’s almost time to go. Can’t you just bring it later?”

“Yes, fine. Put your shoes on and we’ll go.”

I grab my Astor Park blazer and tug it on. The back door opens.

“What about Hartley?” Dylan says.

“Oh, I forgot about her.” In a raised voice, Mom hollers, “Hartley, it’s time for school.”

“God, do we have to wait for her?”

“I’m right here,” I respond.

Dylan looks over her shoulder in surprise and then scampers to the car, ducking into the backseat. Mom hurries around to the driver’s seat.

“Get in,” she says to me. Over her shoulder, she addresses Dylan. “Do you have all your homework?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t forget to change before I pick you up.”

“Yeah, Mom. I get it.”

“Well, last week you didn’t remember, did you?”

Dylan falls silent. I flip down my visor and pretend to check my non-existent makeup but really use the mirror to spy on my sister. She tucks her headphones into her ears and stares at her phone.

I really need to know that she’s unharmed.

“Mom, about last night. Maybe I can help remind Dylan to take her meds?”

Mom brakes at a stoplight and turns with a surprised look, as if she forgot I was even in the car. “Oh, Hartley. You should get a ride home from a friend. Dylan has horseback riding lessons this afternoon,” she says, completely ignoring my suggestion. Maybe she didn’t hear me.

“Last night was scary.”

“Your father has a temper.” She waves it off. “And everything is all right because Dylan will take her meds or she won’t be going to the horse show this weekend.”

Mom checks the rearview mirror and waits for a response, but we get nothing. Dylan’s music is turned up so high we can hear it through her earbuds.

“Dylan,” Mom repeats.

My own blood pressure is rising because of Dylan’s lack of response. I reach in the back and snap my fingers. She doesn’t flinch.

“Dylan, turn that down,” Mom shouts as she brakes hard in front of Astor Park. “It’s so loud I can hear the music. You’re going to lose your hearing.”